


Many Uses For Lube

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Age Play, Crossdressing, Daddy Play, Gender Play, Humiliating Dirty Talk, Multi, Oral Sex, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 18:32:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: You and Mark have a few interesting conversations.





	Many Uses For Lube

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by Angel!

It all starts out because of Mark's dumb skits.

"You still have that schoolgirl outfit?"

You're digging through his costume trunk, looking for... you don't even remember anymore, because every time you see another costume, it's a pleasant memory.

"Yeah," he says, and he looks sheepish. "I figure I may use it for another skit some time." 

You raise an eyebrow, and you're grinning at him a bit in spite of yourself.

He just looks so vaguely... sheepish.

It's adorable.

It's not fair for a grown man like him to look so adorable.

"Okay, so maybe I kinda like the idea of the skirt," he admits. 

"Just the skirt?"

"... the whole outfit," he says in a huff, and he's blushing, leaning against the door frame of the closet, fidgeting with his hands.

He's clearly embarrassed, rubbing his hands together, shifting from foot to foot, and he was blushing.

You raise an eyebrow again, looking at him with an amused expression. 

"Okay, fine, I kinda like wearing it sometimes," he says, and he's laughing, blushing.

You get off of the floor, backing out of the closet and turning around, draping your arms over his shoulder.

You kiss him on the mouth, a silly, smacking kiss, and he makes an amused noise, his hand going around your waist and pulling you closer, so that you're belly to belly, chest to chest.

He's grinning like the goof that he is, the light reflecting off of his glasses, and you kiss him again, longer and deeper this time, his hands moving up to your back, cradling your shoulder blades, and you sigh against him. 

He brings his hands down, and then he's grabbing your ass, and you're arching into it.

He's already hard - well and truly hard, and you raise an eyebrow, reaching between his legs to squeeze his cock through his jeans.

He sighs, rolling his hips into your hand, and you squeeze him, panting against his mouth. 

"You're so warm," he mumbles against your mouth, as his hand skims across your chest, to your nipple, pressing his thumb against it, squeezing around it.

You shudder, going a bit limp, and then he's flipping the two of you around, pressing you into the door frame, and his hands are on your hips now, as he looks into your eyes.

His eyes are dark, his pupils wide.

"Um," you say, ever eloquent.

"You'd look cute in a schoolgirl outfit," he says, his voice teasing, and his hand are moving to the hem of your jeans, beginning to push them down, and then he's on his knees in front of you, looking at you with those his brown eyes, and some small bit of your heart melts.

It melts pretty low down, truth be told, and you can already feel the arousal begin to thrum through your body, your toes curling. 

You're panting, your heartbeat loud in your ears, your chest rising and falling with each breath, every time your lungs inflate and deflate.

And then he's pulling your underwear down as well, and he's nuzzling at your inner thighs.

"I think I'm not the only one into the whole idea of dressing up," he says, and he sounds amused as all hell.

"Shut up," you mumble, and you push down on his head, gently.

"I dunno," he teases. "Are you sure you don't wanna be dressed all pretty?"

"We're not talking about me," you say primly. "We're talking about you."

"Right, right," he says. "If I were to dress up for you... would you want me to go the whole nine yards?"

"Whole nine yards?"

His hand is between your legs now, and he's using his thumb right where it's appreciated.

"You know... maybe panties, or... the rest of it." 

"Um," you say, because you can't think of anything but what the rest of him is doing. 

You're going weak in the knees, as you lean heavily against the door frame.

The both of you barely fit in here. 

You're half tempted to push him down, straddle his face, take your pleasure from him that way.

But no, that would be awkward and uncomfortable on the floor like this, especially when in such cramped quarters.

You're shaking, as he keeps eye contact and leans forward, beginning to use his mouth in such a way as to make your eyes roll back into your head.

He's sucking, sometimes, and he's doing stuff with his tongue - fucked if you can actually keep up with it, because _oh_ , he's doing... something, something that makes you whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair, twisting it and pulling it.

He makes a surprised noise at the first yank, and he looks up at you, his eyes wicked.

Then he shifts positions, the light reflecting off of his glasses, and you can't read them, but you can feel his tongue doing things, and his fingers... oh god, his fingers, fuck, he's... oh, _god_.

You're going stiff, your orgasm beginning to approach, and your fingers are cramping, your toes are beginning to cramp from curling, and he's not letting up - if anything, he's working harder, and it's making you sigh and sob, your moans getting faster, more ragged with every pass of his tongue, every time he makes his fingers twitch. 

You're going to cum, right here, in the fucking costume closet, and every time you see the place you're probably going to blush....

What if he fucked you over the trunk?

Just bent you over and took you like something out of a certain type of novel, or maybe a fanfiction written one handed. 

You cum, a sudden break in the pressure building in your gut, and he's making greedy noises, swallowing it down. 

He pulls back, and his chin is wet with his drool and your cum. 

When he stands up and kisses you, he tastes like you, and that's... okay, that's pretty hot, and now you're pressing closer to him, your hand sliding into his jeans, and you're jerking him off inside, awkwardly, admittedly, but still.

He's fucking your fist, and his face is going ugly with pleasure, arching his back, and he's banging his fist on the wall hard enough that his hand is probably going to be sore, but it doesn't matter, because he's panting, open mouthed, shaking. 

He cums in his pants, across your hand, and then he looks at you, his eyes glazed, his glasses all smeared up from where they pressed against your face, and he looks embarrassed.

"I feel like I usually last longer than that," he says, and he sounds sheepish. 

"You do," you assure him. "Do you just have a thing for costumes or something like that?"

"Not just costumes," he says. "Specifically that costume."

"Any particular reason why?"

You withdraw your hand from his pants, and you wipe it off on his jeans.

"Hey!"

"What?" 

You try to look innocent, even if you only really did that to annoy him.

"You could have gotten a towel," he says, but he's making a face, as his cold, cummy boxers are pressed against his groin and his thighs. 

"Would you rather I walk through the house with a hand covered in jizz outstretched in front of me?"

"... well, no," he admits. "I guess the answer is to keep wet wipes around at all times."

"To go with the lube that you think we should have around at all times?"

"Hey, lube is always a good idea," says Mark. "Name me one situation that can't be improved with lube."

"An icy sidewalk," you say. 

"... I'll find a way, yet," he says. "Just give me a minute." 

You snort, and you kiss him. 

"I'm going to go wash my hands," you tell him. 

You need to clean yourself off as well - you could go for a wet wipe yourself. 

"I should probably wash my face," he says. 

"I was gonna suggest you brush your teeth," you say.

He snorts, and he makes his way towards the bathroom.

"I guess I'm using the sink in the kitchen," you say to nobody in particular. 

* * * 

When you're eating dinner, Mark looks almost... shy.

You don't pry, although you are curious about it. 

He doesn't seem to be ashamed of much in life, so him being shy about anything always came as a bit of a shock. 

It's only when you're both doing dishes that he says something.

"Do you think I'm weird?"

You glance over at him, one eyebrow up.

"Hm?"

"Do you think I'm weird," he says again, as he puts the dishes into the dish rack.

"I mean," you say, trying to find a way to put it right, "I think that you're pretty weird as compared to, like, the average Joe on the street or whatever?"

"Gee, thanks," Mark says, his tone deadpan.

You shrug.

"I mean," you say, "your day job literally involves you getting hung from a suspension frame, getting zapped with shock collars, sitting in bathtubs full of mashed potatoes - "

"In fairness," Mark says, "some of that is my own idea." He pauses. "This doesn't really add to me trying to look normal, does it?"

"Not really, no," you say, "but hey, there are people who'd kill for your job."

"I know," Mark says. 

"So what's bothering you? Usually you don't care about being normal."

He leans back against the counter, his legs stretched in front of him, his expression thoughtful .

"I... I worry that maybe the fact that I like weird stuff - both, like, sexually and otherwise, I worry that it means something is wrong with me. Or maybe there's some weird childhood traumatic event that I'm missing or something, because I get off on the idea of wearing a schoolgirl outfit while I'm getting fucked up the ass."

He looks embarrassed, as if he had just said something he regretted.

You glance back at him. 

He's usually not that into getting stuff up his ass, for one reason or another, which you're fine with - you're not the biggest fan of butt fucking, although it can be fun in the right circumstances.

"I dunno," he says. "Maybe I saw some kind of weird porn when I was at the wrong age, and now I've got some weird twisted -"

"You want to wear a skirt and get done up the butt," you interrupt him. "That's not that outlandish."

"I worry it says something about me," he says, and he looks self conscious. 

You turn around, crossing your arms across your chest, and you just... look at him.

"What do you worry it says about you?"

"... I don't know," says Mark, and he looks embarrassed. "Maybe that I'm some kind of pervert."

"Do you want to go out and boff actual school girls?"

Mark's face contorts into something like a sock puppet trying to collapse in on itself.

"I'll take that as a no," you say. "So you don't want to boff schoolgirls. Do you... miss being youthful and want to go back, without the attachments of actually being that age?"

You're grabbing ideas out of thin air, because you honestly can't fathom it.

You know you're more kinky than he is - you've been reading the weird fanfic since you probably shouldn't have, and at this point you're not even sure what counts as the weird stuff.

He gives you an odd look.

"Like, okay," you say. "How does the whole... outfit make you feel?"

"... sexy?"

"Okay, but _why_ does it make you feel sexy?"

Only for him will you do the bullshit psychoanalysis. 

"Um," says Mark, and his expression gets thoughtful. "I'm honestly not sure."

"Well," you say, going back to the dishes, "maybe you could try thinking on that, and figure it all out from there?"

"Since when did you get so insightful?"

He leans against you, hip to hip, and you lean back into him, the heat of his body soaking into your own, the familiarity relaxing you, just a bit. 

"I can be insightful," you tell him.

"I'm sorry," he says, and he kisses your temple.

You lean into it, and you sigh, hooking one of your dishpan hands into his belt loop to keep him close.

"It's okay," you say, and you rest your head on his shoulder. 

He wraps an arm around your shoulders.

* * *

"I figured out what you could do with lube when it's icy," said Mark, as you step out of the shower the next morning.

He's standing in front of the sink, brushing his teeth and looking muzzily into the mirror.

"What's up?"

"Remember when we were talking about lube and you said that here was some way of using lube on an icy sidewalk?"

"... vaguely?"

You're toweling yourself dry, along your back, then your belly. 

"Well," he says, "I was thinking, lube could be used to melt the ice!"

"... what?"

He's looking at you, equally bleary, and the toothpaste is foaming out of his mouth as if he has rabies.

Or maybe is eating whipped cream.

Either/or, really.

"You could use the lube to melt the ice," he says, triumphant.

"How would it melt the ice?"

"There's stuff in lube that could be used to melt ice, right?"

"I mean, we could test it," you say, your expression thoughtful. "Except I don't want to waste the lube."

"It'd be for science," Mark says, and there's a bit of whine in his voice. 

"I mean, if you really must," you tell him, "but then you go into the details about what kind of lube it is. Is it flavored lube? Is it the fancy lube, or the cheap lube in the little packets you get with free condoms?"

"I was thinking of the lube you get," he tells you.

"Not my fancy lube," you say. 

"What about if I bought some cheap lube to test it out?"

You're almost entirely dry now, and you're making your way to the bedroom to get dressed. 

"If you wanna do that, do it," you say. "Maybe have a lube wrestling thing on your channel. Do it with Tyler!"

"... I'd have to buy too much lube," he says, his expression getting thoughtful. "I also don't know how fans would interpret that."

You snort, pulling your underwear up your legs, then putting on a pair of pants.

"I think you could do it," you tell him, "but you gotta make sure you've got your bathing suits, like, glued on."

You finish getting dressed, down to your socks, and then you're looking critically at yourself in the mirror.

Meh.

Who cares, right?

"... ow," says Mark, and he's wincing.

You grin at him, and then you kiss him on the cheek, as he's pulling his own pajama pants off.

You grab his butt, because it is just that perfect and it is right there, and he grins at you, pressing it into your hand a bit.

"I'm off to run errands," you tell him. "See ya later."

"Have fun," he says, and then he says something else, and it's drowned out by the sound of the water turning on. 

"What was that?"

"Um," he says, and he's blushing. "You know the whole.. schoolgirl thing?"

"Hm?"

He's just... standing there, being naked. 

Being beautiful.

It's not fair. 

He manages to be beautiful even in the horrible florescent light of the bathroom. 

"If, uh... if you see anything you'd ever like to see me... wearing, I'd be okay with getting it. Erm, with you getting it. I could reimburse you for it. And also, uh, also we could... we could maybe try something with it. You know. Something fun."

You raise an eyebrow.

"I feel weird having this conversation when you're all dressed, and I'm standing here naked."

"You're the one who decided to be naked," you remind him. 

"It's not like I can shower with all my clothes on," he counters.

"I'm sure if anyone could, it'd be you," you tell him, and you kiss him on the cheek, a loud, smacking, silly kiss.

He laughs, and then you're off to go buy dog food and milk and carrots and all the other things that are necessary for the day to day living.

You pause in front of a dollar store, and they're having a sale on those bundles of underwear and knee high socks.

... hmm.

Your expression gets thoughtful, as you walk into the store.

* * *

Your heart is beating very fast in your ears, when you walk in and drop the bag onto the kitchen table.

And Mark is standing there, looking a bit sweaty, and he's grinning. 

"So how was your filming?"

"You've been gone for a few hours."

"It was good," says Mark. "I, uh i did some more thinking."

"Yeah?"

"What did you think?"

"I thought a lot of things," says Mark, and he's clearly stalling.

You let him stall, as you begin to put away the groceries.

"I... you know how you were talking about the whole idea of certain things?"

"Certain things?"

Dog food goes into that cabinet, pasta is next to it.

"Yeah," he says. "Mainly about, you know, wanting to... return to the innocence of youth, without the baggage of my own youth."

You make vaguely encouraging noises - whenever he's in this kind of headspace, he just needs to talk it out.

"Plus, you know, when I was a teenager, there was all of this bullshit that I felt like I had to live up to, and honestly, just thinking about being a teenage boy again makes all my hair stand up."

You nod, as the last of the groceries are put away, and you lean against the counter, so that he can work his own neurosis out. 

At least he doesn't do this too often - you're not his shrink, you're his partner. 

"I... I like the idea of the fun bits of being a teenager. And also, like... relying on you," he says. "Which leads up to the next bit. Which is kind of weirder."

"Does it involve cake farting?"

"... what?"

He looks at you, momentarily nonplussed.

"Cake farting," you say. "You know. You're the one that showed me that whole thing. Have you been carrying on a desire to do that in your heart of hearts?"

"... no," he says, his voice deadpan. "No, I do not carry a desire to fart on cakes."

"You could just want to sit on cakes," you tell him. "Some people get a sexual thrill out of it."

"I'm sure they do," Mark says, "but... I am not one of them."

"You sure?"

"I'm very sure," he says. 

"So what is this thing that you're so embarrassed to admit to?"

"... I kinda want to call you Daddy. And possibly role play."

... this wasn't exactly what you're expecting.

You aren't sure what you were expecting, but you're... not exactly the type that gets called Daddy that often.

What with one thing and another.

"Okay," you say. "Anything else?"

"I, um." 

He's staring down at his feet, and then he's shifting his weight, putting his hands behind his head.

He's avoiding eye contact.

"I want... I mean, I want you to maybe... I could mouth off to you, and then you could try spanking me, and then... doing me."

"Right," you say. "That's doable." You smirk at him. "And so are you."

"I can't believe you just said that," he groans, covering his face, as over dramatic as ever. 

He even slumps onto the floor, sprawled out like Chica in a sunbeam.

You nudge him gently with one foot, and he grabs it. 

You make an undignified noise, and nearly fall over, until he lets go of it.

"I'm supposed to be dramatically swooning here," Mark says, looking up at you with a goofy expression. 

"You're dramatically swooning in the middle of my kitchen," you tell him. "I need to use the kitchen for stuff."

"Are you using it for anything right now?"

"If you keep it up, I'll spank you right here and now," you tell him, in your sternest voice.

"Sorry, Daddy," he says, and he looks so... something that something low and deep in your belly twitches.

Um.

"Just don't do it again," you squeak out.

You've got shivers going across your skin in waves, and your toes are curling on the tile.

"Yes, Daddy," Mark says, and he's using that same voice, and okay.

You're officially won over

Who knew that you can be won over that easily. 

"Let's do it," you tell him. 

"Do what?"

"You know. You getting all dressed up and pretty and me doing stuff to you."

"And by stuff you mean...."

"Me fucking your ass."

"Right," Mark mumbles, and he's blushing, looking down to the side.

"Any more requests?"

"... could you use that dildo you got?"

"The green one?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Uh, sure."

That's not how you usually do this kind of thing, but you've got the right set up for it.

You can even wear it - they made harnesses for just about anyone these days!

"Thanks," he says, and he's blushing.

"Is there anything else you'd like from me?"

"You think you could... you know, dress up a bit?"

"Dress up? Like how?"

"You could wear my clothes," he suggests. 

"Yeah?"

"I've still got the Darkiplier suit," he says, although you're not sure if it would fit you or not - there is a decent difference between your sizes, but if this is just a sexy roleplaying scene, does it really matter?

As long as you more or less look like whatever it is that he wants you to look like, that's the important part.

You should ask him about that, actually; what he wants from the scene.

So you do, as he stands up, and goes back to leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his arms protectively.

"I guess," Mark says, as his expression turns thoughtful again, "I guess what I'd really like is to feel... you know. Helpless, I guess? Or maybe not helpless, exactly, but like you have more power over me."

"Right," you say. "Yeah, that's totally doable."

You resist the urge to make the same joke you made before, although it takes effort.

Any joke worth telling is worth telling as many times as it can be funny.

"Right," says Mark, and he's blushing even harder, rubbing his hands together and shifting from foot to foot.

"So... when do you wanna do it?"

"Oh. Um. I can do it tonight. I just have to... you know."

He makes a vague hand gesture; you have no idea what that means, but you nod anyway.

You know what he's talking about, more or less. 

"I'll, uh... I'll come get you. When I'm ready."

"Sounds good," you say. "Can you set up what you want me to wear and whatnot?"

"Yeah, of course," he says. 

He leans over, and he kisses your forehead.

You cup his cheek, stroking his cheekbone with your thumb, and he takes your hand in his own and he kisses your palm, his expression soft and sweet.

You blush a bit in spite of yourself - you always get squirmy when he does the romantic shit. 

He grins at you, somewhere close to cheeky, and kisses the back of your hand, over your knuckles.

"Thank you, Daddy," he says in a low voice, and it's enough to make your whole body clench, heat kindling in your gut and sinking into your skin like the roots of some plant.

You nod, silent, and your face is so hot that you worry that you're going to pass out.

"I should get back to work," he says. "I'll tell you when to start getting ready."

"Sounds like a good plan," you say.

* * *

It's a few hours later - you've gotten your own stuff done, walked Chica, got some cooking in, and now you're kinda.. mooching around. 

Mark comes up to you, and he looks something close to sheepish.

"I'm, uh... that is, I'm ready for you to start getting ready."

"Come give Daddy a kiss," you say impulsively, and he freezes.

You glance down, and oh yes, he's got a boner.

Your lips curve into a smile - you hadn't even realized it would be _that_ easy to get him worked up. 

"Thank you, Daddy," he says quietly. 

"Good girl," you tell him. 

He swallows thickly.

"Oh, sweetheart?"

"Hm?"

"Don't forget to shave," you say, running your hand across your own face.

He blushes, but he nods.

* * *

You discuss the scene a bit more - through the bathroom door at one point, as he gets various things sorted out.

You’re all dolled up in his Darkiplier suit, and you wonder, faintly, why he likes fucking in his costumes.

Does he like going on camera with the memory of the wild sex the two of you had?

You blush a bit at that, as you adjust the hard cock in your pants - it sits a bit funny, what with one thing and another, and maybe some bits of your own anatomy get in the way, but it _is_ a specially made harness. 

And then he’s coming out of the bathroom, and he’s… all dolled up.

He got almost all of the blood out of the uniform, at least. 

And he’s blushing, and he’s shuffling.

He’s already told you that he wants to lead the scene, so you’re all ready for that.

So you just sit there on the chair, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

“Hi, Daddy,” he says, and his voice is a little higher than usual.

You raise an eyebrow.

“So, uh, the school called you,” he says, and he’s rubbing his hands together, shifting from foot to foot.

He’s wearing thigh high socks, and they’re a soft, charcoal grey.

You want to put your hands on them, although… not just yet. 

“They did,” you say slowly, just to watch his squirm. 

“It… it wasn’t… it wasn’t exactly how they described it,” he says.

More silence.

“I was only… I was only with two guys. Not three. One of them was just watching.”

“So what were you doing, sweetheart?”

You keep your voice sweet, grave, like every sitcom dad you’ve ever watched.

“I was… I mean….”

“Yes?”

“I was sucking their cocks,” Mark says, and he’s standing in front of you, his hands behind his back, his feet pointed towards each other.

Fuck, he’s even _standing_ differently. 

You lick your lips, looking him up and down.

He’s… he’s even wearing makeup.

Wow.

Not a lot of it - just a little bit of lip gloss, maybe some mascara, but you can still make it out.

Okay.

“Bend over the bed,” you tell him, indicating it.

“The bed?”

“Yes. Bend over it.”

“Why?”

“Because your daddy is telling you to, that’s why,” you say, and you stand up, glaring at him, so that the two of you are nearly nose to nose.

“Y-y-yes, Daddy,” Mark stutters, and he almost trips as he goes to the bed, then bends over it, shuffling forward so that he’s on his tiptoes, his ass stuck in the air. 

You come up behind him, and you drape yourself across his back, nuzzling into the side of his neck.

The dildo is pressed against his ass, and he grinds back against it, moaning.

“You’re really desperate for cock, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

He nods crazily, and he’s clutching at the sheets with his big hands.

“I bet what you want more than anything else is for Daddy to lift your skirt up and fuck you ‘til you forget your own name, isn’t it?”

“... maybe,” Mark mumbles into the sheets. 

“Tell Daddy.”

“I… I want it, Daddy,” Mark mumbles.

“You want what, sweetheart?”

You pull the skirt up all the way, and there is his ass - his _truly_ glorious ass - in the white cotton panties that you picked up from the dollar store, and you can see the way his calves are beginning to get hard, as he shifts position, tenses up.

“I want… I want my Daddy to fuck me,” Mark says thickly.

“How badly do you want it?”

You hook your fingers under the waistband of the panties, and push them down, revealing more of his ass, then his balls, his cock pressed against his stomach as he squirms, grinding his hips forward. 

You bring your hand down, and you slap his ass.

You slap it hard enough that there’s a little earthquake, as the flesh jiggles, and he makes a surprised noise. 

“You've been a bad girl, sweetheart,” you tell him, and you keep slapping his ass; long and slow, and he shudders with each hit you land, as his ass slowly turns red. 

You're giving him a slow, lazy spanking, going from the curve of his ass to where his thighs meet his ass, and he's groaning, actually sobbing. 

“Daddy, Daddy, it hurts,” Mark cries out, and his ass is flexing with each hit, and he sobs. 

“Does it hurt? Are you gonna remember this the next time you wanna bend over for some boy in a stairwell, honey?”

“Yes, yes, Daddy…,” Mark sobs.

“That's right,” you say, and you grab his ass in both hands, spreading his cheeks apart. 

His hole is already lubed and ready for you - that must have been one of the reasons he was in the bathroom for quite so long. 

You press your thumb into his hole, and his muscles try to pull you in, squeezing you tightly.

“Does this pretty little hole wanna be stuffed full of daddy cock?”

You're aware if how ridiculous you sound, but he's still wriggling under you, as you slide a different finger into him, curving it so that your fingertip is pressed against his prostate. 

He shakes against you like he's a leaf in a storm, as you begin to thrust your fingers carefully. 

He arches against you, planting his feet, spreading his legs wider, and then you're withdrawing your fingers, shoving your pants down around your thighs. 

You roll a condom over your strap on, and your toes are curling as you breathe heavily, lining your cock up with his hole. 

You press the head of your cock against his hole, and his muscles are trying to pull you in. 

You push yourself in carefully, until you've bottomed out, and he's shuddering, clinging to the bed. 

“You like Daddy's cock, sweetheart?”

You keep your voice rough as you begin to roll your hips, fucking him carefully. 

“Daddy!”

Mark's voice breaks as you begin to go faster, and the pressure of the strap on begins to press… right where it can be appreciated, 

You're gonna cum from this - if not from the sight of his arched back and his wriggling, then from the sweet pressure, and you stare down at his ass, as the green dildo going in and out of him.

He cums across his belly, across the bed, and he's shaking, breathing harder. 

“Daddy, I'm gonna be… I'm gonna cum.”

“Are you? You gonna cum from Daddy's thick cock?”

“Yes, please….”

“Do it. Fucking… cum on Daddy's cock!”

He cums.

He arches his back and plants his legs, his hips working desperately, and then you're clutching at his red was, and you're shoving the harness aside and making yourself cum, barely any movement from your fingers.”

And then you fall onto the bed next to him, shaking. 

He looks at you sideways, his expression amused. 

“Well,” he says, “that was fun.”

And for some reason that is the funniest shit ever. 

Full on hard enough to fall off of the bed, and you're panting from all the laughing. 

So this is weird. 

But who the fuck cares? 

He's smiling at you, and that's all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic?
> 
> Want me to write you something like it, or something completely different?
> 
> Come talk to me on my tumblr, theseusinthemaze.tumblr.com!


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